


Field Application

by forgivemygenius, Shiv (Final_Acts)



Category: GoldenEye (1995), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Mention of James Bond/Alec Trevelyan, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgivemygenius/pseuds/forgivemygenius, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Final_Acts/pseuds/Shiv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Q arrives to join Bond on a field mission, he finds the agent in a strange mood. Q is curious and Bond is looking for any reason not to go growling into the darkness inside him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Field Application

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic done with the listed (and talented) co-author, ForgiveMyGenius. She's responsible for Q, I'm responsible for Bond, and it was a lot of fun! Who doesn't love writing some 00Q with a friend?

Bond was deep in a mission, had been under cover for months in the wilds of Russia, when one evening, there was an all too mild-mannered knock at his cabin door.

Bond was deep in a bottle, had been under the influence for months, when the knock came. He looked calmly over, sliding the large, bulky headphones off. He didn’t mind taking a break. He could listen to the coded transmissions anytime. A knock at the door, considering what it took to get out here, was far more interesting. He moved quietly as he stood, Walther slipping naturally into his hand, and went to the door.

"Not open for American tourists," he snapped grouchily in Russian. "Go away."

"Not American," came the quiet English reply on the other side of the door. "I'm out of my pyjamas and it's freezing out here. Please open the door."

James didn’t often look surprised anymore, even when he was. He did, however, still show his exasperation. He rolled his eyes and muttered something rude, then opened the door.

English likely meant only one thing: MI6 wanted to give him a headache. The door opened and a pistol greeted Q, since its barrel could be such a warm greeting. Seeing nobody else with the baby boy, Bond jerked him inside by the collar and slammed the door. It was more than a few degrees below freezing.

It took a lot to ruffle Q's feathers, though he did stand, staring blinkingly at Bond. "Paranoia and extreme irritability are hallmarks of cabin fever. You might want to get out more." He glanced around the cabin, smelled the alcohol. "I see you're having no trouble acting the part. What is your cover exactly? Russian mountain man? How _have_ you managed to abstain from sex for so long?"

Despite the alcohol on his breath and the scent from the open bottle, James didn’t look drunk. His eyes were clear and his body steady as he walked around the boy, looking him over. "Glad to see you as well, Q. You look cold. Take off your jacket. Sit by the fire. And stop reading my personal files for fun." James looked good -- much better than he had when they met.

He was healthier in general, and even the tattered wool sweater and old denims he wore couldn’t hide the regained hardness of his body. His eyes twinkled in amusement as he turned to flip closed a notebook that lay on the table, next to the receiver and headphones.

Q's generous mouth curved up very slightly at the corners in his take on the human expression of joy (could he ever give an unrestrained version of anything?). He did as he'd been invited, removed the thick arctic jacket and hung it before going to sit by the flames. The orange light was entirely pleasant, causing his eyes to hood just a tad as he enjoyed it.

"I know my arrival here is somewhat unorthodox, but we couldn't spare any other agents to make the delivery. Things are getting hairy in Iran. Well, hairier than usual. We really should simply employ a razor, but..." he huffed softly and slouched, relaxing further. "Actually, it's quite nice here, if you ignore the terrifying lack of technological comforts."

"Or electricity." James wasn't sure the kid had picked up on that yet; even the receiver was cranked for power. "Care for a drink?"

Q’s eyes widened a touch and he looked around once more, now noticing the details. "Ah. Yes. Even more frightening. Yes. A drink sounds lovely." Again, a small curve of his lips. "Vodka in Russia. I'd like to do that. Do you have vodka?" He didn't get out much.

Clearly.

"I do." James had been going to look for a glass, but since the kid wanted to be _authentic_ , he just handed him the bottle. "What delivery?" He stood near, watching Q closely.

The quartermaster started to open his mouth to say something, but then, a lopsided grin split his face and he chuckled. "Thank you...for the authentic experience."

He took a swig from the bottle, nearly coughed, but held it in check, and immediately held the bottle back to Bond. "That was...not something I wish to do again." He inhaled sharply through his nose then cleared his throat. "The delivery. It's in the left breast pocket on the jacket." He glanced over at the hanging jacket, still blinking watery eyes. "You've gotten yourself back into shape," he commented, as if he'd only just noticed.

James ignored the offered bottle and went to retrieve the items from the jacket. He smiled at the palm-print gun like it was an old friend, and set it on the bedside table. His old-school Walther PPK was holstered at his side now that he wasn’t going to shoot Q with it. James took the sealed envelope and opened it, scanning over the two thin pages. His expression grew somber quickly.

"I assume you're unaware of my new orders." He doubted the boy would be sitting there so comfortably if he had even the slightest clue. After looking them over again and checking for anything hidden on the paper, he put it all in the fireplace.

"All I know is that you're moving." A glow came to Q’s face. "I was towing another snowmobile behind mine. It was quite fun." All Bond had been given before were snowshoes.

"That gives us extra time then. Care for a fuck before I escort you back to the airport?" Q's attitude annoyed him, as did the mission, so his words were colder than Q deserved. James went to his notebook and photographed four pages from it before crinkling the paper by the handful and burning all of it.

Once it was roaring away in the fireplace, he pointed at the receiver. "Completely disassemble and destroy that." He moved to the other side of the cabin and started packing the few things he'd brought out here into a backpack.

The younger man’s eyebrows disappeared under the thick bangs of his moppy haircut. "That's the Bond I expected. Smooth and refined. Something about this mission not to your liking?" He set the bottle of vodka aside and went to begin work on the receiver.

"You could say that." James had his back to Q and he stood still for a moment, listening to the boy work on the machine. He closed his eyes and reminded himself that while his license to kill now included anyone he found need to, there might be paperwork involved if he killed Q.

"You're not to come. The orders said you will be with me, as my field support, but I don't want you there." _You're too young to die like this_ , he thought, pulling on socks and boots.

Q stopped working momentarily, but resumed nearly right away. "You won't be able to stop me. Why are you getting dressed? I thought we were going to fuck," his soft voice intoned smoothly with only the minor lilts of his accent.

Bond finished lacing a boot and looked over at him, considering. When he saw that Q had finished destroying the machine, he walked over to him. "If you insist…There's time." That said, he cupped one rough hand extremely gently under Q's chin, turning the young man's face up, and pressed an equally gentle kiss to his lips.

There was a moment of hesitation, miniscule, but detectable, before Q abruptly deepened the kiss. At least it didn't appear that his only intimate experiences had been through a laptop. After a moment, he pressed the straight line of his lanky body against the steel of the other man's curves and likewise sent his tongue probing into Bond's mouth. He refrained from touching, preferring to demonstrate his skills in isolation from one another.

James purred. That was really the only word to describe the warm, appreciative, low hum. He wrapped his arms around Q and picked him up, carrying him over to the bed as if he weighed nothing -- and not breaking the kiss. He kept on kissing, loving every moment of their tongues sliding against each other, until he had deposited Q on the mattress. Then, James pulled back. For a moment, his eyes were unguarded, open. He looked vulnerable, almost, almost like he was expecting an ice-cold rejection.

"Would you, um... Let me… I just want to..." He put his hand on Q's abdomen, feeling the life in him, and stared at his face. James was kneeling on the floor next to the bed. "…Worship you," he finally finished. "Touch you... Taste you... Everywhere."

1\. If Q had read enough of the files, he would now know that James was likely deeply upset about something. 2. It wasn't a line. Bond's eyes were far too sincere for that. He needed Q to let him adore him; See #1 for reason. 3. If Q had heard enough rumors, he would know that James was supposedly a fantastic lover, except that he steadily refused to emotionally connect to anyone. 4. Except for Alec Trevelyan.

The words did surprise Q, but he'd done his research, and tempting as it was to let this play out, Q was a decent person. Instead of urging Bond onward, he put a hand atop the one that was on the soft plane of his stomach (Q wasn't really into working out, and it showed. Whatever he did was just enough to keep his stamina up.). "Why is this mission bothering you so much?" His own facade was melting away in kind. His concern was real.

James turned his hand over, grasped Q's, then brought it to his lips to kiss. He sighed, lightly nuzzling his face against the inside of the man's wrist. "A lot of people will die. They always do. Shadows that should have been burned away…" He closed his eyes and shook his head, then took Q's hand and rested it against the back of his neck. He kissed Q's hip next, then rested his forehead against the slender waist.

Every little movement of the younger man's body, he felt. The smell of his skin and his laundry soap and his ridiculously overpriced arctic long underwear were the smells of life. God, bond craved them. It was always like this. He just usually didn’t let his lovers know it… Know that he _needed_ them, like the night needed the day.

"You'll prevail. You always do." Q sighed softly and, with his other hand, plucked his glasses from his face and put them aside. 007’s face went all soft with the new vision, the fine wrinkles indistinguishable, but the hard lines more pronounced. The quartermaster gave a small nod. "You may proceed." The hand he'd had on the back of Bond's neck squeezed softly, then fingertips began to massage.

That actually got a genuine laugh out of James. "Thank you," he said, his voice warmed by the humor.

He leaned up to kiss the boy's lips again, and then got to work. Bond was insanely leisurely about everything, more than taking his time -- but by the time he was done using his hands and his mouth, Q was probably exhausted anyway. Being the center of someone's world, when someone was going to every effort to delight your entire body, could do that.

When Q had come for the fourth time and it seemed James was also satisfied by some means, the young man rolled onto his side and draped a lazy arm over James' sculpted chest. He pressed several kisses along James' stubbled jawline.

"You. Are. Amazingly handsome.” A kiss dotted each word. “And amazing in general. However, you know this already." Q’s words were bordering on slurred. Bond, apparently, was a good drug.

The quartermaster reached for James' hand with his and intertwined their fingers. This kept his hand from straying downwards. It was so difficult not to reach into the man's pants to feel what lay in waiting. Alas. He sighed happily and laid his cheek on the pronounced pectoral muscle closest to him. "And you make a firm, yet very pleasant pillow."

"Thank you," he said again, his voice quiet with a contented weariness. Bond put an arm around Q and murmured something about 'beautiful'... And he listened as the younger man drifted off. He couldn’t do the entwined hand thing for long, it made him crazy, but his erection was mostly gone by the time he let go, so even if Q's sleepy hand went wandering, hopefully it wasn’t too enticing to bring him back fully awake. By the next sunrise, there was no sign they'd ever been in the cabin.

Two nights later, near midnight, they were checking into an old hotel in downtown Moscow. It had been truly luxurious once, but now it was run-down. Bond liked the faded elegance -- the tarnished feet of the bathtub, the flickering electric lights in the chandelier, the worn velvet curtains.

They had a suite, but James turned down both sides of one of the beds, as open invitation, though he said nothing. He and Q hadn’t touched since the cabin, and bond had been brooding silently nearly the entire trip here. After satisfying himself that the rooms were safe, he went and ran a bath. The black and white tiles of the bathroom floor were cold, as was the air.

"Russia," he muttered to himself. It was snowing outside. Of course. James splashed at the water like that would make it go faster. He could be a silent whiner that way sometimes.

Q had gone around the room, fingers tracing lines on each old-world item. He noticed James' handiwork with one of the beds and smiled. He continued tactilely exploring the room and its items as James went into the bathroom.

"What did that water ever do to you?" Q asked, suddenly there, leaning against the doorframe. He was still in his parka-like jacket. It was too cold to take it off. "Does it even stay hot? The tub must leech out all the heat."

James had given him a confused look when accused of water abuse. Then he shrugged. "I only turned the hot tap."

The surface was steaming, but not quite high enough yet. He had taken his jacket off already, and now he started taking everything else off. He folded things neatly and set them on the counter, wrapping a towel loosely around his waist. It never failed to frustrate him how low the water pressure was in some of these places. Oh, Moscow.

Q's gaze never left James' body. "I suppose this is really living. Experiencing things outside of the familiar. Although that's not to say I've never been so cold that I wear my jacket indoors. Do you think this is a test or punishment? Assigning me as field support?"

Q had mixed feelings about it. On one hand, he'd been happy to get the chance to spend more time with Bond, but on the other....well, this wasn't exactly his area. He was used to late nights with glowing blue monitors and lots of caffeine as his companions. He was used to doughnuts at his fingertips and fuzzy slippers at his toetips as he composed poetic lines of code in the plush folds of his own bed. Sure, he'd dreamed of this kind of adventure, but knew he was not cut out for it. That was why he was always proudly declaring that he was more effective than a field agent, really. He'd sensed that Bond had picked up on that the day they'd met in the museum, and while they could mutually respect each other’s worlds while mocking them, Q, for his part, secretly wanted a taste of 007's.

"It's what you make it. Most things are." James shrugged and turned off the faucet, then put his towel back on the rack. Shyness had never been one of Bond's strong suits. He got into the hot water with a sigh of relief. Months in the cold did absolutely nothing to ease a body that had more aches and once-broken bones than most VA hospitals, but the absolute heat of the water was wonderful.

"Of course it is, but I'm trying to figure out the intention behind it." The hot water looked nice to Q. The body in it looked even nicer. "May I join you?"

"Mm." Bond nodded. His eyes were closed and his head leaned back and he looked far too comfortable.

The sound of the heavy zipper being pulled echoed off the walls. The metal clinked against the tile as it hit the floor. Next, boots and other articles of clothing joined the pile. Once the quartermaster was naked, he kicked the pile of clothes into the corner and came to stand beside the tub, his flaccid organ at just the right height.

Goosebumps had broken out all over Q’s flesh. He paused, put his quickly fogging-up glasses on the edge of the sink, and then reached out to run his fingers through Bond's short hair. This small, innocent action was enough to send blood to his cock, even as the rest of him shivered in the cold. It felt nice. The cold contrasted with the heat growing in his belly. He didn't get in the tub yet; instead, he leaned down and took James' lips with his own.

James sighed, yielding to the kiss. He put one of his hands on the back of one of Q's thighs. His hand was hot from the water and warm rivulets ran down Q's skin. Bond massaged the leg as they kissed, then let his hand run all the way up to a more comfortable place on Q's shoulder.

Q's leg had twitched with the contact, but he'd made no sound. He kissed more fervently and then abruptly moved to straddle James in the tub. The water level rose quickly with this and so he twisted around to turn the tap off. The hot water instantly turned Q’s pale skin pink where it was submerged.

Placing his hands on the edge of the tub on either side of James' head, Q leaned in and resumed the kiss, tilting his hips in a way that their cocks were pressed together.

Either Q had really read his homework or else he read the man; everything he did was right, was irresistible. From the timing of his kiss to him being on top, everything was well chosen. He very much had Bond's attention. With the silky press of the other man's cock against his, so curiously temperature-neutral in the hot water, Bond couldn't help a low growl of enjoyment.

James put both hands on Q's thighs, running them up and down. He kissed back with a restrained eagerness, wanting _everything_ but not willing to break Q's spell by acting out of turn.

It was the younger man’s turn to explore, but first, he teased Bond's cock into full hardness by rocking his hips back and forth. The water sloshed around them as they slid against one another. Q shuddered, breath catching as he broke the kiss and went to start licking down James' neck and along his collarbone. He nipped lightly at first, checking James' reaction before biting a little harder.

James offered no protest; every touch and kiss and bite was a pleasure. He was so willing to lose himself in Q's focus and he was too turned on to want anything else. His hands finally settled on the slight man's hips, thumbs massaging down the top of his thighs, sometimes pressing closer to the inside.

"You know what you're doing," James managed to say, although he almost felt too damned breathless to speak.

"Well, I was getting the feeling..." Q sucked sharply on James' neck where it met his shoulder, causing a hickey. "...that every other thought of yours about me involved thinking of me as a boy..." One of his hands moved to tug at one of James' erect nipples, knowing they were quite sensitive. "...so I figured I should prove you wrong."

Q reached between them with his other hand, wrapped it around both of their lengths, and began to stroke them together, still teasing the nipple so that James' brain could hardly decide which sensation to focus on.

"Oh, God!" was Bond’s response, breath ragged, and he had to wrap his arms around Q. Trying to breathe evenly and maintain any sort of dignity was a waste of time, and he pressed his forehead against Q's shoulder.

James' arms were like iron around him - but iron that would never harm him, could never. Q's breath was too close to bond's ear now. The pleasure in it, the controlled pleasure and smugness and the pleasure of a plan well executed, were all audible. Bond wanted to feel that breath change, wanted.. Fuck. James had no idea what he wanted, other than Q. So he bit the man's shoulder once, before kissing his ridiculously delicate neck. God it would only take one hand to snap it.

The somewhat sadistic quartermaster continued the dual assault for some while, though moved his hand to the other nipple for fairness and also let his tongue snake out to lap at the tempting shell of 007's ear. When he could tell James was on the brink, he abruptly withdrew, chuckling softly in Bond's ear. He knew that for both of them, every nerve fiber was alive and raw. He could hardly keep his movements jitter-free.

"You were really very good the other night, but I'll show you that I'm better at this as well,” Q half-whispered.

Moving, slithering, really, down James' body, tongue tracing a trail down--pausing to taste and tease each nipple a little--and down, Q moved so he was straddled over James' shins and stopped when his tongue dipped into the man's belly button, which was just barely below the water line. Q's hands moved to the floor of the tub on either side of Bond's hips, to support his shifting weight. He smirked a little.

"I'm not coming up for air until you come. Somehow, I don't think that's going to be problematic, but I can hold my breath a _long_ time, so. Don't. Rush. It." He meant it. He enjoyed the challenge.

After taking a low, deep breath, Q closed his eyes and went under, taking James' cock into his mouth.

_Don't rush it?_ What the fuck did that even mean? How was James supposed to not come once his cock was basically being massaged by a talented mouth and throat?

"You fucking weirdo," he muttered, knowing Q couldn’t hear him.

He tried. He really did try... But soon his hands had left red streaks on pink skin where he'd grasped and squeezed, while gasping, while practically his entire body was rigid. And as soon as Q was above the water and breathing again, James adjusted his hold on him. He was shuddering too much to risk letting the slinky little fuck do anything else arousing, so Bond pulled Q around. He drew Q to him so the man's back was snug up against his chest, and bond's thighs were pressed against Q's.

"Laboratory science has its applications in the field, I suppose," James whispered, chin on Q's shoulder.

Bond was acutely aware of the other man's erection…But it didn’t look like it was going anywhere in the next two minutes.

Q was a little miffed at being moved this way as he'd had more plans, but maybe he still had a chance. His ears would have gone back a little, had he been a cat.

"Mmm, yes, it absolutely does." Q reached behind and slid a hand down James' thigh.

“Stop," James said, voice suddenly as cold as the air around them.

The older man had gone tense, as though he loathed the physical contact now. He even pushed Q away, then got up out of the tub. He quickly wrapped a towel around his waist and snatched up his gun, turned off the bathroom light, walked out, and shut the door.

Q sighed and flopped onto his back in the tub, not sure what to think. The spy was insane. He lowered his head under the water and decided to wash his hair while ignoring his raging hard-on.

A few thumps and a crash helped the time pass. Minutes later, Bond turned the light back on. He was bleeding from a minor wound on his stomach and his left cheek was bruised, but he looked quite pleased.

"The heat's on out here now. Might I suggest you move to the bed? You do seem to still have a concern."

Q’s mouth fell open a little and he nodded, quietly pulling the stopper and stepping out of the tub. He grabbed a towel and dried his hair first, then moved on to the rest before slinging the towel around his waist and reaching for his glasses. Once he could see better, he eyed Bond up and down.

"Is there a body out there?"

"No, no. Of course not." James kissed Q on his pretty little lips, smirked, and gave him a shove towards the bed. The front room was in shambles from the fight, but James didn’t seem bothered by it. They had unfinished business, after all, and the mess would wait for morning.

The younger man allowed himself to totter to the bed, still glancing about. He did not sit down.

"Who was it and what happened? We should treat your injuries."

"Former KGB men who were kind enough to invite me to dinner tomorrow. It's just a scratch." The best thing about checking in with his own name was that so many people were willing to do the legwork for him by showing up unannounced. "Russian hospitality. You'll come to love it."

"I'm going with you." Q fixed Bond with a level stare, expecting an argument.

"Of course. Through an earpiece." Did they really have to talk shop now? James kissed him. "There's nothing to worry about. I've had Red wine before."

Q rolled his eyes a little, the kiss reminding him of his cock, which was getting a bit sore by now. "If by earpiece, then not far away. I may be a desk jockey...well...more of a bed jockey in more than one way, but I _can_ shoot. And I _can_ be of use to you beyond the computer network."

"I know you can _shoot_ ," James chuckled, kissing Q again and pushing him until he was lying down on the bed. Bond continued kissing him then, trying to get him to just _shut up_ and let his cock get some attention.

"How did they know you're here anyway?" It seemed Q was not going to be an easy lay at this point.

James met his eyes -- then got up and walked away. When he came back, he had a tie in his hands, which he promptly secured around Q's mouth. "Put the ‘q’ in quiet." James kissed his chest.

Q huffed and lowered his hands from when he'd tried to thwart Bond in securing the thing around his head, then lay back on the pillows again, this time under his own volition. However, he crossed one ankle over the other, and stared at James with one brow slightly quirked, not at all looking like he was going to give in.

However, when the stare-off seemed to go nowhere, the quartermaster finally made some sort of indignant noise and removed his glasses once more, huffing again as all of his limbs went slack in surrender. His thoughts returned to their time in the tub and how he had so wanted to execute his plans...alas, he would file them away and use them another time. Bond wouldn't know what hit him.

Bond smirked at the compliance, then repaid him the great favor he'd been given in the tub.

When they were quite done, nobody was tied or restrained in any way, and there were no wayward hard-ons to make a conversation awkward, Bond asked:

"Has there ever been any realistic progress on cold fusion?"

Q lay with an arm curled up above his head. A lazy brow lifted at the question.

"Officially? No. Unofficially? That's another story. Why do you ask?"

"Is it dangerous?"

"In the wrong hands, anything is dangerous. This is connected with dinner tomorrow, I take it."

James huffed quietly. "No. I was just curious. Dinner is about my most-coincidental arrival in Moscow shortly after there are reported sightings of Ivan Stepanovich and several of his men. The Crimson, they were called. A terror squad... Or former KGB team gone rogue. Either way, the Russian government would never admit to affiliation... To sending them on the hits they went on. I'd been under the impression that... Janus… Took care of them." With a soft grunt of annoyance, James shrugged. "I shouldn’t have believed it. My mission is simply to confirm or deny these rumors. If Ivan is still alive, we need to know. So I am told."

Q blinked several times. "I've heard very little about Janus. I've been told to stay away from those files. It's not that I couldn't access them without discovery, but I had more interesting files to hack first. Haven't gotten to those ones yet. Is he supposed to be there tomorrow?"

"I killed him. He was a traitor." There was no emotion at all in Bond’s voice. "A double-oh." He sighed and turned away, having no more words for the night.

"You had feelings for him."

Q was met only with silence.

"I thought as much. I'm sorry."

Q truly was sorry He curled up next to James, spooned around him, and put an arm around his waist, but he switched topics, not ready to sleep:

"If this Ivan Stepanovich is alive, what will that mean?"

The arm around him felt good to James. The offered comfort, the support -- all he had to do was reach out and connect to Q right now, with only a few words, and he might have a chance at being human again. At being alive again. Sometimes, the people in his bed did that to him, taunted him with what he could never have and could never admit to wanting. They could be so alive, so delicate and strong at once, so wonderful. And they'd never really know the anguish they gave him – or the depth of the relief and succor. The lovers kept him remotely related to humanity. They, and nothing else. He knew it and accepted it.

"It'll mean that the Russian mafia and government will both flirt with him. It'll mean what every incident means: danger that we have to stop. He had a vicious charm. Anyone would do anything for him. Dangerous man."

A deep, steadying breath came from Q's body.

"Routine, then," he said softly, closing his eyes.

"Routine," Bond agreed. "Goodnight, Q."

"Good night, James," came the quiet reply.


End file.
